


the ultimate test of cerebral fitness

by psychomachia



Category: Chess (Board Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As I lay broken and bleeding on the battlefield, I began to wonder about the meaning of it all. I mean, what are we actually fighting for? Are we always destined to lose in some cosmic game? Why do the sides have to be different colors? Why can't the Biskups just be able to hook up for once without the world ending?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ultimate test of cerebral fitness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reishiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reishiin/gifts).



**Day 0**

Today, we were told that like so many units before us, we were enlisted into an ongoing war between dark and light. We have spent our lives preparing for this and though we may have despaired at first as years seemed to pass without us being called into action, tomorrow shall be our first glorious battle. I have resolved to document these events so that our legendary deeds may echo throughout history. Our Kóngur is strong, our Riddari are strong, and most importantly, our strategist is one of great confidence and power. We shall not falter. We shall not fail.

**Day 1**

We failed utterly. 

**Day 2**

Now that the crushing sense of futility has subsided, I may now relay to you our defeat. We had entered the battlefield and witnessed our enemy, gleaming and implacable in their dark armor. A soldier to the left of me trembled and I elbowed him in the ribs, for such fear is unbecoming of the Ljós. He elbowed me back and we would have tussled if not for the glare of a nearby Biskup that quieted us down. I must say that it is rather sad that the Biskupar have vowed to never speak to each other over that whole matter with one of the Riddari, for it has made them both incredibly touchy. 

The Kóngur called us to battle, her voice echoing through the ranks. “Men, I know this may be your first meeting with our enemy. Many of you may believe the lies that others have told you – that they cannot be stopped. That they cannot be killed. That under their armor they are half-tentacled, half-cyborg killing machines that only exist to rip out your brains and eat it in front of you.” 

We all nodded, for who had not heard the story of poor Sogskál. “But I say to you, they can be stopped. They can be killed. Their tentacles will not latch onto our heads as long as our strategist is strong and true.” Our hearts swelled with hope and we knew that we would triumph. We looked above and waited for our strategist's orders.

He bravely called out and my trembling compatriot moved forward, raising his shield high. We watched in anticipation as the Myrkur sent out a soldier of their own, boldly rushing even closer to us. It seemed they were just as eager as us to fight. I heard another called order from our strategist and realized it was meant for me. I moved past my compatriot to stand in front and to the right of him, proudly ready for anything the enemy could give us. 

But I could not imagine the horror that would befall us as out of the enemy ranks emerged a Drottning, the most powerful of all our foes. The thorns on its crown seemed to gleam with blood, and instinctively I clutched my shield, prepared for the worst. He moved, almost too fast for the eye to see, and re-emerged next to me. The pressure from his gaze was overwhelming and my knees began to buckle. But before I blacked out, a terrifying voice boomed over me, and I knew it sealed all of our doom. 

“Checkmate.”

When I awoke in the barracks, I searched my comrades' eyes, finding nothing but shame in them. To lose is one thing. To lose so miserably is quite another. And let's face it – this was an epic loss. I hope to never repeat this again. 

**Day 3**

We lost again. Our strategist called for a Peð to step forth and this time, the action was mirrored by the Myrkur, who sent one of their own to stand right in front. He then called for a Biskup, and I watched as he swept by, glaring at everyone. Seriously, I really think the two of them should work it out. I mean, it's not as if the Riddari wasn't willing to share.

Anyhow, he made his way to the front and strangely enough, the enemy responded by sending out their own Biskup to stand in front. They stood eye to eye, glaring at each other and I wondered if perhaps their Biskup had the same issues ours did. I had little time to think much further, however, before our strategist, perhaps in anger and frustration, called for our Drottning to end this. He rushed past and we watched our Kóngur's eyes narrow, for we knew that much as she valued his abilities, she mistrusted risking him for this newest plan. 

And as before, the enemy sent out their own Drottning and all hell broke loose. We could hear our strategist's voice booming over the battlefield. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he asked, and his rage made us all cower. “Seriously, you're just copying me.” 

He looked contemptuously down and beckoned the Drottning back. He moved back to us, and I saw the confusion on his face. What was going on here? “Copy that,” he said.

Their Drottning moved lightning quick and I heard the soldier next to me cry out in pain. I watched him fall as the Drottning glided to land on top of him, crushing him beneath its dark, implacable weight. Once more, I felt its unbearable presence. Once more, I felt my knees give way.

Once more, I heard, “Checkmate.” 

Once more, there was nothing to be done. 

We were able to heal the soldier physically, but mentally? He stares off into space, rocking back and forth. These losses, so quick and brutal, crush us, and I am beginning to fear the worst. 

**Day 4**

Lost again. Will do better tomorrow.

**Day 5**

Lost again. Will try to do better tomorrow.

**Day 6-Day 299**

Lost again. Will—what's even the point?

**Day 300**

I know that I promised an accurate and faithful account of this war, but honestly, what it boils down to is this: Our strategist has no idea what the hell he's doing. He gives us orders that make no sense, he orders us to retreat when we are on the verge of victory, and even we manage to defeat an enemy soldier, it's always at the cost of two of our own.

I tried to talk to our Kóngur today, but she's taken to locking herself up with the Drottning and drinking heavily in her tent. I cannot blame her, for in all honesty, she's been captured so many times that she once joked one more time and she'd get a sundae. The next day, she broke out the vodka and I only see her when she's on the battlefield, resignedly waiting for the inevitable loss. The Drottning is in no better shape, having taken so many risks in battle that he waits for each day to be his last. Also, he says, he thinks his enemy counterpart gave him a pat on the back yesterday and a sympathetic nod, which was more than he could bear. 

On the bright side, the Biskupar are now talking to each other again, sending notes to pass through the Peð ranks. I have saved a few for posterity:

“Dearest (name redacted for privacy),

Though once I vowed to disembowel you for your treachery with the Riddari, these last few hundred battles have reminded me of who the real enemy is: that asshole above. I know that we cannot physically be together, for stupid reasons involving the collision of matter and anti-matter, but I believe that mentally as long as we both despise that idiot who sends us to die constantly, we will always be a part of each other. Also, I'm sorry I called you fat.”

“My Darling (name redacted for privacy),

I, too, once threatened you with death by a thousand cuts for daring to trifle with the Riddari, but such matters are behind us now. You are correct in that that monster who gives us such ridiculous stupid orders must be stopped, but alas, what can we do? We are but soldiers in an ongoing battle where our power is meaningless and fleeting. I will always be with you in spirit, however, and together, our shared hatred of his commands will be the glue that bonds for eternity. And I'm sorry I said you were too skinny.”

**Day 301**

We lost a few soldiers today, and when I say we lost a few, I mean that they are utterly missing. In the latest loss by the strategist, he took his rage out on the battlefield. His anger was profound and he sent bodies flying. When we regrouped back at camp, the Kóngur took a head count and we were down two Peð. 

I went to sleep tonight, but it was not a restful one, for I feared for our missing comrades. Always, when they are defeated by the Myrkur, they are able to be taken back to our medical tents to be healed. But this time, I worry that they are out there somewhere, unable to be saved. Damn this strategist and his idiotic, childish anger! We will lose good men today because of him. 

**Day 304**

We have been called out to the battlefield again today, but this command has sent our camp into disarray. We are still down two of the Peð so I have no idea how we will be able to fight. Does our strategist think we can take the enemy with limited forces? 

No, no we can't.

**Day 305**

So that happened.

When we formed ranks for battle, I noticed we had a full contingent and rejoiced that our men had been recovered .Then I noticed something a bit... peculiar about my comrades. 

They no longer were wearing their slightly off-white armor, now battered and beaten from constant losses. 

Instead, they now appeared to be round, flat, and red. Possibly robots. 

I tried to ask the Kóngur about this, but she just shook her head and took another drink from her flask. “You don't want to know,” she said, her eyes haunted. “Hell, I don't want to know.”

We lost the battle rather quickly (down the Riddari, the Biskupar, and one Hrókur thanks to epic stupidity), so we able to retreat back to camp early enough that I was able to corner one of the new “arrivals,” and try to talk to him.

“So you're a red disk now,” I asked, trying to be diplomatic. “How's that working out for you?”

“Bleep,” it answered. 

“Ah,” I said. “Say no more.”

**Day 308**

Strategist lost temper again yesterday. Half of our Peð are now red disks. It does make things a bit quieter, but it's also vaguely unnerving as you never which side to talk to. 

**Day 310**

Now the enemy appears to be suffering the same problem. At least three of their men are now round and flat, though once again, they beat us by at least being the same color as their regular soldiers. They seem as disquieted as us, however, and more than once, I've seen their Drottning giving one of them a side-eye. You know, once you realize the Myrkur aren't tentacled monstrosities of doom, they're not that bad.

**Day 311**

As I lay broken and bleeding on the battlefield, I began to wonder about the meaning of it all. I mean, what are we actually fighting for? Are we always destined to lose in some cosmic game? Why do the sides have to be different colors? Why can't the Biskupar just be able to hook up for once without the world ending? What the hell are those round things I'm fighting with and why are they so creepy? 

I realized I asked the last one out loud when the enemy Riddari standing over my body just sort of shrugged and said, “I don't know, man. Just be grateful yours don't stare at you while you sleep.”

“How would you know?” I asked, genuinely curious.

His face grew dark. “Oh, I know,” he said ominously. “I always know.”

And that was when I lost consciousness again.

**Day 313**

Another new arrival came to our camp today, but this time it wasn't one of those burbling disks that now make up the vast majority of our Peð (seriously, was it just me left?). I had noticed yesterday after battle had ended (crushing loss, utter failure, you get the idea), that we had lost one of the Hrókur. Normally, I wouldn't really have paid attention as those guys tend to be pretty non-communicative and/or cyborgs, but instead of a large tank, I saw someone dancing around in silver armor, lithe instead of lumbering. 

As they were not a creepy round robot that never seemed to sleep, I decided to make their acquaintance. When I walked up to the figure, I noticed two things. One, that armor was definitely so much more awesome than ours. And two, she was really pretty and cool-looking and I wanted to be with her until my dying day (which as far as I knew, could be any day now).

“So, you're some sort of silver armored thing now,” I asked, trying to be suave. “How's that going for you? 

She stared at me, her eyes narrowing, and I took a step back. Crap, I thought. Had I made a horrible mistake? Was this another robot? One with laser eyes? Or tentacles? I stammered nervously. “I mean, it's amazing. Silver armor is definitely cool and please don't kill me.” 

She smiled. “Don't worry,” she said, and did her accent sound French? Oh, God, not another reason to crush horribly. “That's not my job now.”

And with that, I fell even more hopelessly in love. 

**Day 316**

It was another three days before I had a second chance to talk to Lumière . (When the Kóngur told us me her name, I said it was just as beautiful as her, and the Kóngur rolled her eyes and went to go drink in her tent again.). It was the same pattern. Three battles, three losses, three times of going back to camp and swearing vengeance upon the strategist and all of his descendants. At least time, the losses seemed to have stopped, though all but one of the Peð line on the enemy side were all round disks. I wondered if the Riddari was getting any sleep now. 

We had settled down in camp for the night when I caught sight of Lumière. She beckoned me over and I tried to bounce as quietly as I could to her side. “I'm so happy to see you again,” I whispered. 

“Things have been... crazy here,” she said. “But it is nice to always see friends.” 

“Yes,” I said. “And I'm so glad you're not a robot.” She gave me a bewildered look. “Not that there's anything wrong with that if you turn out to be one. It's just-- hey, your armor's pretty shiny.” 

She patted me on the shoulder. “Relax,” she said. “I know I don't look or act like the rest of you. The strategist drafted me in to replace one of your--” and she frowned. “Rooks?” 

“Hrókur,” I answered. “We call them Hrókur here. I think the strategist said it makes them sound more bad-ass.” 

“Ah, that makes sense.” She looked awkwardly at her feet for a moment. “Well, it's certainly different here than where I come from.” 

I perked up. “Where are you from,” I said, “if you don't mind me asking?” I dared not ask those disks where there from, mainly because of the language barrier, but also because I still remembered the haunted look in the Kóngur's eye and honestly, I did want to be able to sleep at nights. Lumière, on the other hand, seemed a little more... non-creepy. 

“It may seem strange,” she said, “but this is not the first type of... skirmish I have participated in. I come from a place where the battles are a little more personal.”

“Personal?”

“In my land,” and she took a deep breath, “I was a weapon, much like you, to be wielded against one enemy and one enemy only. He always died, but I was not always the one used to kill him. And even when I did kill him, it was not always at the same one's command. Different people would use my...abilities to dispose of him. And every time I did it, I knew I was a murderer.”

I reached out my hand to touch her shoulder. She was quiet and her words calm, but I could hear pain in them. “It is not so dissimilar to us,” I murmured. “We may fight at the call of a strategist, but we are always in the end, killing for no real reason at all. We are not murderers, though, but tools of those who murder. Even our Kóngur, leader to us all, knows this. I will not judge you for your actions in your land and I would ask that you not judge me for mine here.”

She looked over at me. After a long moment, she laced her fingers with mine. Her smile was less dazzling than normal, but still filled me with a warmth I rarely felt in my existence. “Though at least my land had a billiards room.” 

We laughed, still holding hands, and if anything happened beyond that, well, it's none of your business.

**Day 361**

We still fight, we still lose every single day, and we all find ways to cope with it. The strategist has shifted from unhinged fury to some sort of grim determination and though we fail horribly every day, he seems to have some sort of epic plan in mind. There are times when we see him staring at the battlefield, and making some sort of calculation in his mind. Can it be that the tide will turn soon? Perhaps, one day we might be victorious. 

Though, even as my hopes arise, I am reminded that it will not bring back those who are irrevocably lost to us. 

**Day 362**

We lost today.

**Day 363**

We lost today.

**Day 364**

I had the oddest dream last night. In it I was not myself, but a ghostly form that winked in and out of existence. At first, there was a man driving a carriage with a horse and they were all in gold, which did not seem to make sense but I went with it. Then an old man dressed in blue who looked like some sort of wizard pondered a series of soldiers made out of crystal, and again, I said, “Why not?” 

I flew in an unreal landscape, until I landed upon a battlefield in which I felt pressed down, flat as if something kept me from rising. I could still move but every time I did, I heard a loud sting of music, and it jolted me every time. My enemy seemed disconnected, appearing not as the strategists I saw normally, but as an uncaring, unfeeling entity that mercilessly slaughtered us. And they all wore armor the color of blood. 

So that was weird.

When I awoke, I shuddered, for it seemed that I fought for a thousand years and slept for none of them. 

Also, I had to tell one of the red discs to get out of my tent, because seriously, it is majorly creepy to wake up to one of them watching you sleep. 

They don't have eyes, you say. How can you tell?

Oh, you can tell. 

**Day 365**

Today... 

I don't even know what to say about today. 

I had suspected something might be different when the strategist walked in. Perhaps it was the new-found aura of competence in the room. Perhaps it was hearing the uplifting classical music playing. But most likely it was the fact that our strategist was an entirely different person than our usual one, and wasn't an egotistical jackass.

Definitely the last one. 

So the battle began as it always does, with a Peð being called out on the field. I marched ahead, determined to not let down this new strategist who did not seem to have their head up their ass. I might fail again, but if they asked, I would do my best to fight. It might be futile, but it would not be meaningless.

The Myrkur sent out one of their soldiers and we followed suit, calling our Biskupar to back us up. Peð threw themselves at the field, capturing and being captured in return. I could sense this would be a longer battle than past ones. Our Drottning moved out, and I knew without looking the expression of Kóngur's face. 

Riddari on both sides rode out, yelling their war-cries and in general, being the crazy bad-asses we all know them to be. Word to the wise: if you don't know where the Riddari is, she's already about to kick you to the ground. It didn't stop an enemy Peð, however, from advancing into our territory and we could see the same desperation in their eyes as our own. 

As I stood there, waiting for my next order, a Biskup strode up next to me, looking fixedly ahead. “Is this what we wanted?” he asked, mouth crooking slightly. “A real battle?”

“I don't know if it's what we want,” I said, bumping our shoulders together. “But it's better than what we've had.” I had to believe that.

Behind us, I could hear the strategist yelling for Kóngur to switch places with Lumière . Would it work? And would they both be safe? I could see a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye as she dashed up, knocking the encroaching Peð to the ground. 

At the sound of another shouted order, the Biskup next to me leaned over and said, “Don't worry about her. We all know she can take care of herself.” He then ran to the side, making a mad dash that led him all the way into Myrkur territory. It was impressive, it was insane, and it was... ultimately futile as I watched an Hrókur take him down brutally not a few seconds later. I had to concede, however, that it seemed a little more productive than the worrying and waiting that seemed to be my role in the battle. 

And I wondered as the strategist pulled the Drottning back to the Kóngur's side, if this day would be any different than the last. True, we hadn't died yet. Also true, we actually seemed to be doing some real damage to the Mykur. But as I watched an enemy Riddari advance all the way into our territory, forcing our Kóngur to move out of danger, all I could think of was the utter stupidity of it all. 

Things blurred for a while. I watched both sides destroy each other, one side getting a temporary advantage only to lose it to the other moments later. Bodies were slammed to the ground with bone-crushing regularity. No further orders were shouted to me and I stood there, unable to move until my next command was given. Not for the first time did I curse the strictures of these battles that made you powerless at the worst possible moments. 

A moment such as Lumière's body crashing to the ground under the weight of an enemy Hrókur. 

And then I heard my next order. Keep moving forward. Don't look back. And I obeyed. 

Bodies fell behind me. I moved again. 

I halted. I could hear screams, dying down to nothing. 

Gradually, the battlefield became quieter. There were perhaps a dozen of us on both sides left there. I stood on Myrkur soil, facing my counterpart and we waited. I don't know what he saw in my face, but I know his held nothing but knowing sympathy. If I could have moved even a step, I'm not sure whether I would have attacked him, or broken down crying in his arms. 

“Checkmate.” 

It was then I realized we won.

**Author's Note:**

> As the English names lack a certain... poetry, I have used Icelandic names for the chess pieces. Also, there are three games modeled in this story:
> 
> 1\. The first one is a Fool's Mate and is unlikely to happen unless you're a horrible chess player. So...  
> 2\. The second one comes from a thread on chess.com titled "Worst chess game ever". It is so bad it's hard to believe someone actually played it.  
> 3\. And the final successful one is a grandmaster match between Henri Grob and W Sommerhalder in 1965. It was hard finding the right game that starts with Grob's Attack, but this one fit the bill. 
> 
> I almost wrote an epilogue in which our hapless pawn having won her final game is drafted to another one - one she hopes is more successful. Sadly, her first move is:
> 
> Go Directly to Jail. Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200.


End file.
